The Theft of Our Lives 17 Pt. 01

Don and Audrey Stanley didn't make much effort to keep our secrets either, although they weren't stupid enough to do anything jeopardizing their benefactor Hank or threatening their access to our family.

My well-crafted video of the Stanley's visit to our home that morning didn't help matters. Artfully done, if I do say so myself, I suspected Don had discreetly shared the lurid performance with at least a couple of our neighbors.

I learned he'd edited it into two versions - one for the broader audience of our neighbors, removing Kellen and Kerri's faces and thereby eliminating the implication of incest, but also keeping other raw footage explicitly depicting the taboo goings-on in our outwardly normal household.

Whatever precautions were taken, both cuts featured Emma's tormented face and me sitting meekly in the corner chair dressed in my sheer lady's stockings and cock cage breathlessly watching her adultery, cementing my wife's status as the neighborhood tramp and my position as a spineless cuckold eager for her ravishment by men and women alike.

Over the course of the next week, I noticed a few neighbors casting suspicious glances at me and Emma, and I knew then Don had almost certainly shown at least the edited version to some of our dearest friends.

I'm also confident at least a couple of Don's closest buddies, sworn to secrecy viewing the long-desired vision of my big-titted wife naked on hands and knees getting fucked by another man, saw the raw footage establishing the incestuous relationship corrupting our household, along with my tacit approval of the depraved lifestyle we'd apparently adopted.

Despicably, Don undoubtedly wore the prize of his illicit romp with Emma and Kerri as a badge of honor, earning the praise and admiration of his pals by bagging the beautiful, upstanding wife and mother they all craved, and screwing our angelic daughter too.

*****************

Kellen was now clearly established as the undisputed master in our home, dominating his mother without fear of consequence and dictating many aspects of her life - how she dressed and whom she fucked.

In a sharp rebuke to my status as husband and father, I was reduced to the practical role of family breadwinner.

I was a total voyeur and shameless cuckold - an eager spectator gazing without protest as the many men, and women too, tapped Emma's statuesque body for their own gratification. Bizarrely, this deprecation of my manhood became a twisted reward, craving more and more of her constant desecration of wedding vows.

Emma's slavish devotion to Kellen and her unceasing infidelity swelled my modest prick in its impenetrable cage, but ultimately left me unrelieved. It was exactly as designed by my vengeful boss, and my latent tendencies for humiliation were now fully developed using Kellen as his proxy.

My beloved bride was so thoroughly corrupted, I didn't think it was possible for her to feel shame or disgust any longer, but I was wrong, because as we continued to learn, Hank was never satisfied when it came to defiling my wife or the sanctity of our once-happy marriage.

"I'm concerned your mom is getting too well adapted to life as a promiscuous slut," Hank said plainly to Kellen one afternoon in a private call that wasn't so private considering Kellen had a habit of putting his phone on speaker and I was sitting in the living room with him.

Thank goodness, Emma was out of the house, although in the end, not hearing the conversation only left her more vulnerable to the terrible idea my boss proposed to our son.

"She does seem to like sex," Kellen concurred, also so corrupted he blew off the insult to his caring mother without a second thought. "I mean, she says she just does it because she has to for the family, but once you get her revved up, she's a flat-out cock hound in bed."

"That's what I'm thinking too, and I don't like it," Hank complained bitterly at the lost thrill of watching Emma suffer emotionally with every new cock she took.

"No, sir, I don't either," our son parroted respectfully.

"Hell, I remember how bad she felt in the beginning, and I plan to make her feel that way again, just to shake her up a bit," Hank gloated into the phone, and I heard the distinctive amusement in his tone simply speaking the words.

"I think your warped dad will get an erection from it too," my boss taunted. "He's such a fucking pervert these days."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Allenby. Whatever you want, I'm on board," Kellen replied wickedly with just a little too much willingness in his voice for a young man idolizing his sainted mother before Hank took control.

Kellen is a good apple turning bad, but he's smart, if not quite in the same intellectual class as his big sister.

Growing in his understanding of psychological control and manipulation, Kellen agreed that a lesson in the numbing shame of debasing servitude was due, tapping an idea certain to make his mother recoil in the same way she did the first time she stripped in Hank's office a year ago.

Unfortunately, an opportunity soon fell into his lap, taking advantage of an annual pilgrimage to our house by a tight-knit group of my old frat brothers for the conference basketball tournament to cheer on our college alma mater.

Honestly, whatever my unnatural tendencies for voyeurism and cuckoldry, I just had no stomach for witnessing Emma unwittingly become a degraded sex doll for our longtime mutual friends, but it wasn't really my choice.

Sure, I got off watching while other men screwed my misused wife, especially if the guy was a pure stud like Jerald Renton, equipped with a cunt-bruising 10" black cock and an insatiable appetite for banging older white MILFs boasting impossibly huge knockers.

I love Emma to death, but I just can't help myself. Seeing her surrender her body for an adulterous sex romp with powerful men is simply too erotic to resist.

This was different, and hosting my old college buddies didn't sound like a good idea. I knew something nasty was in the works, but I doubt Emma thought Kellen was so bold as to undertake a plan for our disgrace with such good friends.

"Surely, he wouldn't go that far," she asked me in a moment of reasonable suspicion as the afternoon approached.

"I can't see it, Emma," I poorly lied, in fact imagining it in great detail. "Kel knows these guys well too, ya know?"

*****************

A few days later, Chet 'Cheetah' Wells, Todd 'Toad' Rivers, and Javier 'Raven' Pájaro, a trio of forty-something former frat brothers with insipid animal nicknames and graying hair arrived at our home, wearing our team's jersey ready for an exciting afternoon watching the game on our big screen television.

I had the unfortunate fraternity moniker of 'Rat,' by the way, which wasn't my choice, but once a nickname sticks, there's not much you can do about it.

Emma wasn't really up for playing hostess to a group of drunk men reliving college memories, but it was a yearly get-together, so she politely accommodated as always, assisting with sandwiches and beer.

"Welcome guys. It's good to see you again," she greeted our guests graciously, planting a friendly but innocent kiss on their cheeks and giving each man a warm but decidedly platonic hug.

Dressed in yoga pants and a lightweight sweatshirt with our school mascot on her chest against the cool, early spring weather, the clothes weren't remotely daring compared to the scandalous outfits she wore around town when we didn't have family friends visiting.

Appealingly body hugging, he combo highlighted Emma's splendid ass, toned legs, and unavoidably, her bountiful chest, although that was nearly impossible to hide even in the bulkiest of sweaters. Still, the togs were unlike anything she wore during previous visits, particularly knowing how the trio's wandering eyes devoured her body when not accompanied by their jealous wives, as was the case now.

Emma's make-up was a touch heavier than the guys remembered, especially when compared to her conservative look at the university and throughout our marriage. With bright blue eyeshadow in the school's colors and her prototypical "cocksucker red" lipstick, the cosmetics were tastefully applied and not over the top.

Somewhat flashy dangle earrings and her standard cutesy ponytail tied in a blue ribbon with straight bangs completed the look, but really, it wasn't a strong enough deviation from her normal matronly appearance to set off any alarm bells among the guys.

"Wow, Em, you still look like a coed," Cheetah complimented giddily, unable to avert his eyes from Emma's glorious backside as she turned towards the kitchen to gather a tray of sandwiches before tipoff.

"Thanks, Cheetah. You always had a good eye for beauty," she mused gamely, intuitively sensing the true desires he harbored and often playfully expressed during our twenty years of association.

"Only for a woman's finest, uh, qualities," the former track sprint star countered, his eyes fixed on Emma's ass while engaging in a little flirtatious banter thinking he'd never penetrate her firm moral firewall against adultery.

At least, he never had.

"Hey gang, ready to kick some Tech butt?" Kellen whooped, entering the room with bravado and greeting our guests before taking off to meet Tim.

Kellen had known the men his whole life, so it was a natural interaction.

"Damn right, Kel. Just like last year," Toad cheered, taking the gauntlet and going with it.

"Sure as hell, Toad," I cheered, comfortable in my role as frat compatriot, pleased my buddies had no knowledge of my stunting chastity cage and embarrassing cuckolding by my own son.

"Mom, you don't seem dressed right for a hostess," Kellen observed, noting her school spirited but non-servile attire.

"Come with me and I'll set you straight," he suggested with the tone of an order, spinning a plan to impose a new role for his compromised mother at this gathering and maximize her distress as Hank desired.

"You too, dad," our conniving son directed, undeterred in exercising his power before my longtime buddies, yet at the same time not overtly signaling the warped dynamic consuming our family.

"Sure, Kel," I answered mildly, giving insight to my pacified condition by letting him take charge unchallenged.

"Please excuse us for a moment guys," Kellen asked casually. "I've got to help my parents, but they'll be back by gametime and I'm sure you'll find the afternoon very entertaining."

"Sure, Kellen. Nice to see you," Cheetah accepted, adding a kind inquiry about our son's own athletic activities. "Hope the baseball's going well."

"Great, Mr. Wells," Kellen replied, adding portentously. "Maybe I can catch the attention of the scouts this season."

"Keep that average over .300 and they'll be pounding down your door," Cheetah encouraged with a nod, familiar with Kellen's baseball prowess from my glowing reports throughout his career from t-ball through high school.

"You bet," Kellen agreed without granting any hint as to his future intent for his mother and me.

A moment later, I followed Emma and our son to his bedroom, uncertain of his plan but feeling a growing sense of concern it wasn't in my wife's best interest, or mine either.

Instead, I feared it was cruelly designed to humiliate his mother while playing on my most perverted frailties by spiking my newly cultivated desire for shame and deprecation, even in front of my longtime friends.

"Wear this. School colors and everything," he advised, nonchalantly tossing his mother a blue apron with white stripes.

The apron was brief down low, made of cotton extending barely to her upper thighs and upward to a bib top featuring a straight cut across the chest with the fabric reaching to just the outer edges of her wide rose areolas, along with ties behind the neck and waist.

In a touch of domestic wordplay, the words "Kiss The Cook" were embroidered in a stylish red font across the bib, although weeks ago Kellen made his seamstress mother remove several stitches in the second "o" resulting in the more provocative phrase, "Kiss The Cock."

"Um, thanks, Kel," his mother accepted dubiously, not wanting to wear the apron but demonstrating the proper attitude by slipping it over her clothing.

"No, mom, I said, 'wear this.' Only this. Everything else is gone," Kellen admonished firmly but with good humor considering the nature of his shameful edict.

"What? Kel, please, it's inappropriate with our guests," Emma objected warily, understanding completely the way she'd look dressed before my gawking frat brothers in only the immodest apron.

"Nonsense," he chided. "They'll love it, and it suits your status as hostess."

"Well, I-I, uh, know, but, you don't understand. This is different than other times," she retorted mildly, knowing Kellen was well aware of why she was so distraught but explaining it anyway.

"I mean, this is Chet, Todd, and Javier. Your father and I have known these guys since college," my suddenly bashful wife complained, unready to make such a drastic transition from former sorority girl and current respectable housewife to wanton vixen in front of men she knew so well and whose wives were among her very best friends.

"I've socialized with Paulina, Jolie, and Pam for years. I can't prance around wearing this in front of their husbands," Emma pleaded with our unmovable son, but as expected, without result.

"That should make it easy then, since you know them all so well," Kellen countered, dismissing his shaken mother's very real concerns while identifying the reason for them as he did.

"Kel, son, it's just that," I started, recognizing that after a year of traumatizing affronts to her dignity my crestfallen wife could still feel shame, and trying to intervene knowing she was truly upset.

"Shut the fuck up, dad! Nobody asked you," he barked stridently, shutting me down abruptly, eyeing me closely and formidably reinforcing his message with his harsh gaze. "In fact, lose those cargo shorts and just wear your jersey."

"Huh? Kel, I'm wearing my, um, cage," I replied sheepishly with an audible gulp. "These are my buddies. They'll laugh at me. I'll lose every ounce of respect in their eyes."

"Shit, dad, you lost your respect the first time you watched Mr. Allenby and his, uh, 'clients,' fuck mom and Kerri and did nothing," Kellen snarled derisively. "That ship has sailed. Now, don't cross me, understand?"

"Yes, son," I answered meekly, instantly chastened and put in my place, shrinking under his harangue and ready to accept his command despite my heartfelt misgivings.

Apparently, Emma saw the wisdom in backing down too, because without another word she stripped off her yoga pants and sweater, again starting to pull the apron over her body.

"Bra too, mom. Hey, where's your jewelry?" our astute youngster noticed when Emma's sweatshirt and bra came off.

"I, uh, took them out this morning. I mean, with the guys coming, I didn't think it was decent," his mother replied nervously, fearing his retribution for her misdeed. "You know they show through almost anything I wear."

"No dice. Go put in those new barbell studs I like so much," Kellen dictated heartlessly. "You know, the big ones that make your nipples really poke out."

"Oh, Kel, don't you think my breasts draw enough attention on their own? Do I really need to emphasize them even more?" she huffed in exasperation, but mindlessly reached for her "slut gear" jewelry box without delay, retrieving the thick gold bars that were impossible to hide in even the loosest garment.

"C'mon mom, guys love your tits. These just make them more 'noticeable,' you know?" Kellen teased, understanding her sensitivity to the eye-catching size of her massive jugs and leveraging her insecurities to the fullest making her squirm uncomfortably.

As I changed, I listened to the entire exchange, mourning the loss of the thoughtful, caring son who adored his mother and respected me, while understanding that our innocent Kellen was no more and recognizing it was all my fault.

"Can I at least wear panties?" she asked, the defeat in her voice unmistakable. "You don't want to freak the guys out too much, do you?"

"No, and put in your vibe. The one with the butt plug. It might be fun," Kellen concluded, the mischief in his voice as present as the imperative.

"Don't Kel. Please don't," my agonized wife pleaded, hopelessly conveying how extreme the act was he demanded. "Please understand, this is very difficult for me. We've known these guys forever. Dressing like a sleaze in front of them is worse than with strangers. I'll be betraying their wives, my very best friends."

Fearing the worst, Emma saw the direction the day was taking, and balking for just a moment considering she had few options, tossed aside her silky blue panties.

Reluctantly, she dabbed some lubricant over the surface of the malicious pink device before inserting the short bulbous plug into her snug anus, followed by a smooth 5" fake prick into her well-used vagina, leaving the small prong of the buzzing clit stimulator pressing menacingly against the tender nub.

"Don't worry, mom. They're guys. They'll love it," Kellen assured, teasing her mercilessly. "Besides, I'll probably forget to trigger it anyways."

"Probably," he joked.

Despite his dismissal, the unforgiving vibrator popped to life almost immediately after the words left his mouth, set mercifully low but already nagging and annoying her susceptible little sex button with the threat of higher settings hanging in the air.

"Mmmmmmm," Emma hummed under her breath in automatic response, her highly volatile pussy easily inflamed after a year of near constant sexual stimulus.

Of course, as expected, the barbell studs had the disturbing effect Kellen anticipated, forcing her naturally thick nipples to preen at full erection, tautly poking through the thin bib barely covering them anyways, leaving little chance they went unnoticed.

"Oh yeah, one more thing," our delinquent son added, grabbing a black marker, lifting the front of his mother's apron, and quickly scrawling something on the denuded surface of her pussy mound before dropping the cloth again.

"A little surprise for later. Anyway, love you, mom, but you'd better get your pretty ass out there or your guests are gonna get lonely," Kellen warned with unseemly familiarity.

"You too, dad," he advised sternly. "Time to show your buddies the man you've become."

The words were a hurtful slap in the face, but I knew they were true. I was a wimp - a wussy - a cuck, and my best friends for life were about to see that fact play out in all it's shameful glory.

"Shit, I almost forgot. Mom, wear your collar too, just to make certain your role is clear," Kellen added deviously, leading us towards the bedroom door. "That ought to spark some interesting conversation, don't you think?"

"Dear god, Kellen! What'll they think of me if they see that?" his mother bemoaned, already mortified by her disgraceful attire and visibly trembling at the addition of the demeaning collar.

"As I said, mother, they'll think your role is clear," he scowled at her intransigence without backing down one iota.

Emma's black leather collar made a helluva statement about her control and submission, and mine too by allowing her to wear it uncontested. It was a statement about the two of us I'm not sure I could explain or live down with Cheetah, Toad, or Raven.

Still, she dutifully buckled it in place around her slender neck, and as expected, I did nothing to prevent it.

Once parentally dignified in our bearing, we were quite a sight upon returning to the den. I was stripped to my team basketball jersey, while Emma's startling look undoubtedly fulfilled fantasies my frat brothers harbored for years but could never admit, at least not until now.